“For as long as she needs,” Eleanor said, and it was settled.
Eleanor’s house in Larks Falls was a tall old Victorian with creaky floors and deep porches and windows that rattled when the wind came down from the county road. It smelled like lemon polish and old books and stew that had been on the stove since noon. The kitchen table was round and scarred and always in use, and dinner was mandatory and loud and conducted without phones, without performance, without anyone pretending to be elsewhere.
Eleanor asked me specific questions.
What did I think about the zoning fight over the new development outside town? What had I read about the pension ruling in the paper that morning? How would I argue the opposite position from the one I had just taken?
The first few times she asked, I said I did not know.
